Nightmare by Steven Harper

"WouldweloseourSilence?" Kite asked.
      "Certainly not," Ara said. "We wouldn’t do that even if we could. But there is a clause that states you can’t do Dream work for another company for at least three years after you leave the Children. Otherwise we’d become a free training ground for the competition."
      "You got all this in writing?" Jeren demanded.
      "Every word. I’ll bring you all a copy of the policies along with your vouchers. Other questions?"
      "Why did you pretend to be a trader from a corporation?" Willa asked in a tiny voice Kendi could barely hear.
      "It’s easier," Ara said. "There are a lot of people who don’t like the Children. Corporations like the Silent Partners don’t care much for us because we don’t want the big profits they do and we can undercut their prices. Slavers have a grudge because we set people free, which takes them off the market and denies slave-sellers a future commission. If I had come in as Mother Ara of the Children of Irfan, for example, your instant-buy bids would have gone up even higher. They might have even refused to sell to me."
      "WhendoeeriveBellephon?" Kite asked.
      Ara blinked as she straightened this out. "We arrive at Bellerophon in about an hour, I think. This is one of our faster slipships. We’ll get you settled in right away."
    And maybe, Kendi thought suddenly, I can find Mom—in the Dream.

CHAPTER FIVE

    We need to learn to speak through Silence. Even the dead have something to say.
    —Irfan Qasad, Founder of the Children of Silence

      Mother Araceil Rymar do Salman Reza dropped her bags on the foyer floor with a sigh. It was a relief to be home again. The windows in the house were open, letting a pleasant summer breeze waft through the screens. Outside, the deep green leaves of the talltree that supported the house rustled, and far below came the roar of a dinosaur. The newly-rescued slaves were in the capable hands of Brother Manny, who would get them settled in for the night and thereby free Ara to go home for the evening.
      Then she heard it—a strange metallic clank. She frowned and stepped over her suitcases, following the noise. It came again and again in a rhythm that echoed off the hardwood floors and walls. Ara followed the sound, mystified, until she came to her son Ben’s room. The noise came from behind the closed door. She knocked once.
      "Ben?" she called. "I’m home."
      The noise stopped for a moment, then resumed. "Come in."
      Ara opened the door. Ben was lying flat on his back on a narrow bench amid a series of levers and pulleys. He was pushing a curved horizontal lever straight up. Behind him, a short stack of black metal weights rose into the air, then descended with a clank. Ben’s freckled face was shiny with sweat, and his flame-red hair was darkened with it. The veins stood out on his arms as he struggled to lift the bar again.
      "Hey, Mom," he grunted. "Good trip?"
      "Ben, what in the world?" Ara said. "What are you doing?"
      "What’s it look like I’m doing?" Clank. His voice carried a hint of annoyance.
      Ara’s gaze wandered about the room. As usual, the place looked like something had exploded inside a computer store. To make room for the weight machine, Ben had shoved his unmade bed to one side, crowding it against his desk. The overflowing boxes of computer parts that usually lined the walls were piled into an unsteady mountain in the corner. Ara was thankful to see that Ben had at least put rugs underneath the weight machine so it wouldn’t scratch the floor. The room smelled of sweat despite the open windows.
      "I meant, where did you get this from?" she said.
    Clank. "Bought it," Ben grunted. Clank.
      Ara suppressed a sigh and felt tired. Talking to Ben lately was like trying to roll a square rock. He had always been reticent as a child, but lately things had gotten worse. Maybe it was a function of being fifteen. She was glad to see him, but a certain amount of exasperation